Sweet Little Lies (Cat Kinsella #1)(41)

‘Dad, I told you not to lift those. Go and get Leo to help. Jesus!’ She hoists the wine onto the marble island and sighs deeply. ‘I’m sorry, my father’s not well so he’s staying with us, and I’m trying to get ready for a party and all in all, it’s a bit of a mad-house today. Christmas drinks with the neighbours,’ she explains with all the enthusiasm of someone facing the firing squad. ‘We did it the first year we moved in. It was my husband’s idea – basically, he extends the invite and I put in all the effort. Anyway, unfortunately it seems to have become rather a tradition.’

‘I’ll bet it has. People love a tradition that involves drinking someone else’s booze.’

She smiles – perfect straight teeth, well-cared for, not synthesised. ‘Anyway, what I was about to say was that the Chapmans at number four have an au pair who looks a bit like this woman. The au pair’s younger, of course, and well, she’s not exactly her double, but there’s definitely a similarity. It could have been her at the gate? What do you reckon, Tash?’

Tash looks up from her canapés. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me. Mine’s always forgetting her keys, forgetting the gate-code, expecting to be buzzed in at all hours. It’s like having another child to look after half the time. Absolute nightmare.’

Emily shoots me a look. ‘Can-you-believe-this-broad?’

Gina smiles again, embarrassed by her friend. ‘I know, I know, first-world-problems and all that.’

I smile. ‘Hey look, you deserve a medal as far as I’m concerned. Twins, right? My sister has one and she’s permanently on the edge of a breakdown.’

‘Try four. Twins and two teenagers.’

‘Blimey,’ is all I can think to say, then, ‘At least you have babysitters on tap, I suppose.’

‘There is that. My eldest Leo is good with them. I wouldn’t leave them with Amber though. She’d be too busy Instagramming to notice they were drinking bleach.’

I pull a face that says, ‘Teenage girls, eh.’ ‘You mentioned your husband before, Mrs Hicks. Is he in? Only it’d be good to show him the photo too, just to see if it rings any bells.’

She sighs the sigh of the put-upon-but-well-compensated wife. ‘Detective, my husband would struggle to recognise me in a photo, that’s how often he’s here.’ A snort of ‘tell me about it’ from Tash Marwood. ‘How long will you be around though? He did say he’d try and get home earlyish to help out – if you can call shouting at the children and criticising my wine choices “helping” – I can’t imagine he’ll shed any light though.’

I smile blandly and hand her my card. ‘If we don’t manage to see him, could you ask him to call the station and an officer will return with the photo.’ She nods, compliant but bewildered. ‘Mrs Marwood, is there anyone in at your home?’

Tash Marwood doesn’t look up this time, too busy doing something intricate with pears. ‘Not really. Tim’s been in Singapore for the past week, he doesn’t get back until tomorrow. There’s Maria, my au pair, I suppose. Feel free. Although if you get more than five words out of her, I’ll be shocked.’

‘There is another thing, Mrs Hicks, your father mentioned an “arsehole” called Bingham earlier. He thought that’s why we were here. Anything we need to be aware of when we knock his door?’

‘Bingham?’ she says, with a twitch of a smile. ‘You mean our resident Victor Meldrew? Oh it’s nothing, really. Leo had a bit of a party while we were away a few months back and Bingham’s convinced that someone well, defecated, on his lawn.’

‘Charming. I take it he’s not invited tonight?’

She laughs, ‘Er, no.’

I have to ask. ‘And did someone defecate on his lawn?’

She nudges me off the Aga, slides a tray of something almondy onto a shelf. ‘I wouldn’t put anything past teenage boys, Detective. Some of them are filthy pigs. But I know Leo didn’t and I also know he won’t be having any more parties. Not after his father finished with him.’

As if called to the stage, the kitchen door crashes open and a handsome man-boy swaggers in with a case of wine under his left arm and his little sister on his right hip. At first glance, he doesn’t look like the type to ‘defecate’ on a lawn but then I don’t have much to compare him to. The only teenage male I’ve endured at close proximity is Noel and this lad seems like a different species with his confident, easy ‘hellos’ and trendy, sculpted hair.

‘Mum, the cat scratched Mia again. We should drown that little runt.’

Maybe not so different, after all.

‘Do you recognise this woman?’ Emily doesn’t waste any time pulling the photo out again. The man-boy stares for a couple of seconds, biting a fleshy bottom lip before giving a listless shake of the head. He doesn’t ask who we are, doesn’t ask who the woman in the photo is. Teenage apathy at its best.

The apathy’s catching and I suddenly feel bored and under-utilised standing in this kitchen. I give Emily the nod, say, ‘OK, well, thanks very much for your time. And if you do think of anything .?.?.’

‘You know, you haven’t picked a great time to come calling,’ says Tash Marwood. ‘Most people on the close are at work during the day.’